Triggers & Ties 11:  Evolution
by Kuria Dalmatia
Summary: From the way Aaron leaned forward, crowding into Spencer's personal space, Spencer knew that things had finally—finally—changed. - Part 11 in the "Triggers & Ties" universe. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** FRAO/NC-17. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**Summary:** From the way Aaron leaned forward, crowding into Spencer's personal space, Spencer knew that things had finally—_finally_—changed.

ARCHIVING: my FFNet account and LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

VERSION: July 2010—January 2011. Yes, it's sadly taken that long. Sigh.

TIMELINES/SPOILERS: Season 5, "The Uncanny Valley" to post-"The Internet is Forever"

THANKS TO: CMAli for giving me the courage to continue on this. To lady_of_scarlet for hand-holding and betaing the story. To those who nominated this fic for the CMFanFiction 2010 Awards. To those who stuck around this long waiting for this installment.

RANDOM COMMENTS: Yes, I have made _garum_ from scratch. I'll stick to Lee & Perins, thank you very much.

_*****/*****_

"_**The world is changed; I can feel it in the water, I can feel it in the earth, I can smell it in the air." –Galadriel's prologue (J.R.R. Tolkien, David Salo)**_

_*****/*****_

Of all the things Spencer Reid expected he would be doing on a Saturday evening, instructing Aaron how to make chicken and rice casserole while Jack colored a Stegosaurus blue were definitely not on the list. Since Haley's death, Spencer had been invited over for dinner occasionally, always on a weekday but never on Thursdays.

The weekends were reserved for Aaron to spend with Jack, and the entire BAU seemed to move Heaven and Hell to get Aaron out of the office by five on a Friday on those weeks when they were actually _in_ the office.

So when Spencer received the text DINNER W/US 2NITE? Saturday morning, he had to fight down the unexpected giddiness. It made him think about those times before the Attack (yes, it deserved capitalization in Spencer's mind) when Aaron had talked about Spencer spending time with Jack.

_You are a part of my life. You need to be a part of his._

It was a Saturday.

It was a step forward.

_Perhaps…_

Still, one just didn't recover _that_ quickly from the murder of his ex-wife or killing a man with his bare hands or adjusting to the challenging lifestyle of a single parent with a demanding job, even if one was the King of Compartmentalization.

Yet now, sitting at the breakfast bar, he could sense the change. Spencer's attention was divided between watching Aaron put together the ingredients, making sure Jack drew on the paper not the counter, and working on his own picture. Jack had insisted that Spencer color a dinosaur as well, and it was the first time in fifteen years Spencer used a crayon on something other than a geographical profile.

"Worcestershire sauce?" Aaron asked dubiously as he picked up the measuring spoons.

"One teaspoon," he answered as he carefully shaded in the dinosaur's neck. "Did you know that the use of a fermented fish sauce dates back to Greco-Roman times? It was called _garum_ or _liquamen_. Its use was documented in the collection of Roman recipes dating back to the late fourth or early fifth centuries A.D. The recipes are usually referred to as _Apicius_, after Marcus Gavius Apicius who was a Roman gourmet during the first century A.D."

"Fish sauce endorsed by a first century foodie."

"Yes. You see, garum can be made with either smelt, sprats, anchovies, or sardines," Spencer clarified. "It was a staple in Mediterranean cuisine. Worcestershire sauce can be seen as the modern equivalent and is made with anchovies."

"Anchovies." Aaron stared at the bottle and then looked at him. "You know I hate anchovies."

"I hate anchovies, too!" Jack piped up as he set his crayon aside.

Spencer glanced down at the boy. "Do you know what an anchovy is?"

"Daddy does, and if Daddy doesn't like it, then it has to be yucky," Jack declared, complete with a firm shake of his head.

"Your father likes _fermented_ anchovies…"

"Spence…"

"Y_ou're_ the one who had it in your pantry," Spencer grinned as he pointed at Aaron with his crayon. "The bottle is half empty, so no complaining."

"Okay, I hate _actual_ anchovies, as in the ones that besmirch pizza." Aaron leaned forward and ruffled Jack's hair. "Those are the kind we don't like, right, buddy? Worcestershire sauce is okay."

"Right!"

Spencer's mouth fell open. "I can't believe you! You're telling your son he doesn't like something he hasn't even tried."

"Do _you_ like anchovies?" Aaron asked.

"That's not the point."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Despite the Team's belief that I only recognize coffee and sugar as food, I have eaten anchovies in a variety of things, including dim sum and puttenesca."

"You're evading."

"You've been eating some form of anchovies _and enjoying them_ for most of your adult life. If you've had any of Rossi's pasta dishes with a red sauce, you've eaten anchovies, as in the actual _fish_. Plus, Worcestershire sauce is a common condiment, so you would have eaten it as a child. Don't even get me started about Caesar salads."

"Still evading," Aaron shot back. "If we were court, I'd treat you as a hostile witness."

"We're not in court and I'm not evading," Spencer defended himself. "I'm stating that I eat anchovies on a regular basis, but not in their whole form."

"It's a yes or no question, Spence."

He glanced over to Jack, who watched their conversation with fascination. He looked at Aaron, who was busy mixing the wet ingredients but he was smiling. Spencer sighed, "If they are part of a sauce, yes. If they are straight out of a jar, no."

Aaron leaned toward Jack and mock-whispered, "Spencer doesn't like anchovies on his pizza, either."

Jack shouted, "Yay!" which earned a gentle 'inside voice' admonishment from Aaron.

Spencer almost told Jack, _Your father is a bully_, because there was no other way to describe Aaron's persistence in getting him to answer how Aaron wanted the question to be answered. Yet, the words stuck in his throat. It was the first time since Foyet's initial attack that Spencer had seen Aaron so relaxed.

It was the first time since that attack that Aaron _bantered_ with him.

It made Spencer blink twice and then hastily fill in the blank spot on the Brachiosaurus's tail. Jack suddenly handed him a crayon and said, "You should make his toenails purple."

Spencer stared. "There's no evidence that a Brachiosaurus had purple toenails."

"Jack," Aaron said as he poured the liquid into the casserole dish, "let Spencer color his dinosaur how he wants to."

"But it's _boring_," Jack complained, wrinkling his nose at the various hues of browns and brownish-greens that Spencer had selected.

"It's more accurate. The Brachiosaurus was discovered in Colorado and Utah and existed during the late Jurassic period and possibly the Early Cretaceous Period," Spencer stated. "It's unknown the exact coloration of their scales, but given the climate and location, the Brachiosaurus would more than likely blend in with its surrounding territory since it was a fully terrestrial animal. You know, originally, scientists believed that because the Brachiosaurus had such large nasal openings," he pointed to the head, "it spent most of its time underwater to support its weight. However, recent studies proved that the water pressure would be too great for the animal to breathe and its feet were too inefficient for aquatic life."

Jack stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Then, he pushed his picture towards Spencer. "Tell me about my dino!"

Aaron chuckled and winked at Spencer. "Let Spencer finish telling me how to make dinner, then he can tell us all about your… what is that? A T-Rex?"

"Stegosaurus," Spencer automatically corrected.

"You _know_ what kind of dino it is?" Jack asked with awe.

He shrugged. "Yes."

Jack beamed at him brightly. "You're awesome!"

Three hours later, Jack was in bed and fast asleep. Spencer spent almost the entire evening talking about the dinosaurs in Jack's coloring book; instead of a bedtime story, Jack had begged him to explain the history of the two stuffed ones Jack insisted on taking to bed. It had been an odd echo of those first few nights after Haley's death, when Spencer recited stories to Aaron and Jack. This time, however, Aaron opted to sit on the corner of Jack's bed instead of next to the boy. After Spencer finished, Aaron made him honeyed tea and they shared a plate of shortbread cookies in silence. When the plate was empty, Spencer knew it was time to leave.

Aaron walked him to the door and undid the lock and chain. Before he opened it, Aaron brushed his fingertips from the tip of Spencer's shoulder down to his wrist. Spencer's eyes widened but Aaron was staring over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. Aaron then murmured, "Most parents just make up stuff when their children ask about things they don't know about. We…we want them to believe that we know everything. With you?" A small smile washed across Aaron's face and he huffed out a quiet laugh. "You know so much…You're always so honest with him. You're so patient…" Aaron met his gaze. "Thank you for indulging Jack."

It took two tries for him to say, "You're welcome." Spencer then tacked on, "Thank you for inviting me over tonight."

"Our pleasure," Aaron replied, his tone warm yet distinctly formal, as he opened the door and stepped aside. "Good night, Spencer."

Spencer knew better than to expect anything more. That gesture before? It was just a simple thank you. Those comments? Aaron voicing his doubts about his ability to take care of his son. Nothing more. Nothing less.

_Time._

_You were the one who offered it to him_, his mind chided. _Time to sort things out. Time for Aaron to figure out what he wants. You were trying to be selfless instead of selfish…yet you're longing…_

"Good night," Spencer said, fighting the disappointment. He nodded and he made his way down the hall.

"Oh, and Spence?" Aaron called out quietly. Spencer looked over his shoulder. Aaron's smile was genuine, affectionate. One that Spencer hadn't seen in months. "Jack's right. You are awesome." Aaron went back inside his apartment and closed the door.

Spencer stared at the door, breath caught in his chest.

_Time_, he told himself. _Time_.

/***/


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** FRAO/NC-17. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**See Chapter 1 for comments, disclaimers and thanks.**

/***/

It took three tries for Spencer to fish his cell phone out of his pocket. The pain surging in his knee prompted him to snarl, "What?"

There was a long pause and then Hotch's very concerned voice asking, "Spence, what's wrong?"

He groaned as he glared at the half-gallon plastic jug of milk leaking from where it split from hitting the edge of the sidewalk. The rest of his groceries were getting soaked, so he reached forward and tried to remove the items from the bag.

"Spence?" Hotch prompted, his worry clear in his tone.

"My physical therapist is a sadist who is paid to indulge in his fantasies," he spat, knowing he shouldn't take his anger out on someone, but damn it, he _hurt_. "Wall squats with a soccer ball are his preferred method of torture. When he released me this afternoon, I swear he took pleasure in me limping out of the office."

"Where are you now?"

"Sitting on my ass on the sidewalk outside my apartment building and wondering which neighbor is going to bitch about the spilled milk," Spencer groused as he examined the casualties. "Damn. The bread is ruined."

"You fell? Answering the phone?"

"No. I fell and _then_ answered the phone."

"Are you hurt?" Hotch asked.

"Besides my pride? No." Spencer grabbed his cane and started to get up. "Can we please _not_ discuss my clumsiness?" He let out a sigh and then felt guilty. "I'm sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean to take it out on you." He picked up the bag with the busted milk container and soggy items as he stood, his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. "Do we have a case?"

"No. I, ah…just…it can wait until later."

"Look, Hotch, you don't just call to call, okay?"

"It can wait," the other man's voice was now firm with the edge of authority that meant the matter was closed.

Spencer sighed as he began hobbling towards the main doors. "Okay, but don't you dare use this as an excuse to keep me out of the field."

"Wouldn't dream of it," came the amused reply. "We'll talk later," Hotch told him and then hung up.

Once inside his apartment, Spencer tossed the ruined groceries, changed out of his stained trousers, and then pulled out two ice packs for his knee. Therapy had gone badly for a variety of reasons; the sessions were always the toughest after returning from a case. The admonishments that he wasn't keeping up with his exercises were especially grating because he did try his best given the circumstances.

He sprawled out on the couch with his knee iced and propped. Spencer was hungry, but he didn't want to deal with making dinner even if it was just opening up a can a soup and heating it in the microwave. He reached for his laptop instead—the ice was finally starting to help—and booted it up. Screw the fifteen-minute rule for ice on his knee. The more it numbed the damn thing, the better.

It wasn't as if he could take "the good drugs."

He began making edits on his latest philosophy paper. Concentrating on that, he knew he would be able to tune out the pain in his knee and also calm his nerves. Morgan thought he was out of his mind for saying that paperwork was meditative, but for Spencer, it was one of the few things almost guaranteed to calm him down.

A knock on the door startled him. He glanced at the time on the corner of his laptop screen and was surprised that over an hour had passed. Spencer briefly debated ignoring his visitor, but realized that it was probably one of his neighbors since visitors had to call to be let in. He moved the ice packs and laptop down to the floor, got his cane, automatically checked his hip holster for his gun (a paranoia that still hadn't gone away yet), and went to the door. When he looked through the peephole, his mouth dropped open.

_Hotch._

Yet any thrill over the fact that Hotch had come over for an impromptu visit quickly turned sour as Spencer realized _why_ the man had come over. Yes, Spencer was the youngest of the team. Yes, he was the one most likely to get into trouble. But the Team's tendency to mother him was annoying, even if they did have the best intentions.

Even Hotch.

Spencer opened the door, knowing that he was failing to hide his perturbed expression by the way Hotch frowned briefly. Hotch was holding a plastic bag filled with groceries and next to him, Jack had a smaller one that wasn't as full.

Then, the other man said somewhat sheepishly, "We were in the neighborhood."

Spencer rolled his eyes but couldn't help teasing, "That's quite a big neighborhood."

"Urban sprawl," said with such dry nonchalance, Spencer found himself snorting in amusement. He opened the door all the way and gestured them in. Jack let go of his father's hand and charged inside. As Hotch passed by, he assured him, "We won't stay long."

Guilt hit full force, because although Spencer wasn't a parent, he understood the challenges of packing up a child for a car trip. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just been a bad day."

"It's okay." Hotch offered a small smile and then lightly touched Spencer's upper arm. "Why don't you sit down? I'll put these away."

He caught sight of what was in the bag: a half loaf of bread and a half gallon of milk. There were other things, but they were obscured by the bread. Spencer blushed at the thoughtfulness of it. "Thank you."

Just as he reached the couch, the tendon in his knee popped and he gasped at the sudden sharp pain. He dropped down on the cushions, biting his lips together so he wouldn't shout profanity.

"Do you need more ice?" Aaron asked. Spencer opened his eyes and watched as the other man bent and picked up the two discarded packs. "Are there more in the freezer?"

"No. I…ah…" He could feel his cheeks warming as he admitted, "I actually iced it too much."

Aaron inspected the two packs in his hands. "These aren't the ones that you can put in the microwave as well?"

"No."

"Where do you keep the warm packs, then? Under the sink in the bathroom?"

"Aaron, I'm okay. It just happens sometimes."

Aaron hitched an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if to argue. Then Jack darted up to them holding a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream. "Daddy says you were hurt, so we brought ice cream to make it better. And we also have syrup and cherries and everything for sundaes!"

Spencer stared at Jack. He blinked a few times and then looked up to Aaron. It was Aaron's turn to blush shyly, just like those times before the Attack when…

It took a few tries, but Spencer was finally able to say, "Your dad is right. Ice cream sundaes make everything better."

"Awesome!" Jack shouted.

"Inside voice, Jack," Aaron reminded him. He paused and then said softly to Spencer, "We don't have to stay. We can go."

Spencer couldn't help the grin blossoming on his face. "Your son promises me ice cream sundaes and now you want to leave? Do you seriously want me to explain the origins of the phrase 'Indian Giver'?"

"I'll take a pass." Aaron held his hands up in surrender. His smile was warm and affectionate. He touched Jack's shoulder. "C'mon, buddy. Let's go make Spencer a special sundae. Then he can tell you all about how rhinoceroses are really dinosaurs."

"Yay!" Jack cheered and then dashed off to the kitchen.

"They're so totally not! Rhinoceroses are mammals," Spencer protested and then stared at Aaron. "Dinosaurs are reptiles."

Aaron shrugged with mock innocence. "Really?"

He narrowed his eyes. "This is a ploy to give me laryngitis, isn't it?"

That earned an outright laugh from Aaron. "If I wanted that, I wouldn't be offering you ice cream now would I?" He winked, then sauntered back to the kitchen and picked Jack up, pulling out a stool and setting the boy down on it. He smiled at his son. "I know where Spencer keeps the crunchy peanut butter. I'll show you how to make chocolate peanut butter sauce."

"Awesome!"

Five minutes later, Jack was sitting on the floor with his bowl on the coffee table 'just like Aunt Jessie lets me.' The comment earned an eye roll from Aaron, who settled on the couch next to Spencer. It was an unexpected invasion of personal space yet triggered the memory of one rainy Sunday afternoon when lunch had consisted of sundaes because that was all that was edible at Spencer's apartment. He found himself smiling at the memory and the lecture he'd given over the sauce-to-ice cream ratio, the proportions of the 'perfect' sundae bite, and how maraschino cherries could cleanse the palate. Then, he looked at the contents of the bowl.

One and a half scoops of vanilla ice cream, chocolate peanut butter sauce drizzled around the sides but not on top of the ice cream, a light sprinkling of crushed peanuts, and topped off with three sliced cherries. No whipped cream because Spencer abhorred the stuff that came out of a can.

_He remembered_.

"Spencer, are rhinos really dinosaurs?" Jack suddenly asked.

Spencer continued to stare at the bowl, voice temporarily refusing to cooperate, as other patterns began clicking in his mind. The most prominent was the use of his first name, shortened to the affectionate 'Spence' when Aaron addressed him directly but his full first name when Aaron referred to him when talking to Jack.

"Spence?" Aaron's voice broke in as he gently touched Spencer's upper arm.

He couldn't stop staring at the sundae as his mind raced. _Is Aaron…courting me?_ Aaron had a sophisticated, romantic side that had slowly emerged in their relationship, and the dinner on Saturday plus what happened tonight had some of the earmarks of Aaron's past efforts. Yet now, Jack was a full-time part of the picture. _Is Aaron trying to get me used to Jack and vice versa?_ He shivered at the thought. A hand settled lightly on his.

Spencer jerked his gaze up to meet Aaron's concerned one. Immediately, he began spouting out facts about rhinoceroses followed by the differences between mammals and reptiles. Spencer spoke rapidly, never breaking eye contact with Aaron. He knew he was shaking and knew that it worried Aaron; the other man frowned slightly. Then, Spencer felt a light squeeze on his wrist and he snapped his mouth shut.

"Breathe," Aaron said softly.

"Rhinoceroses aren't dinosaurs," Spencer concluded as he addressed Jack, but kept his gaze locked on Aaron. "Your dad was just…teasing?" He knew he squeaked out the last word and could feel himself turn scarlet.

"Only about the rhinos," Aaron assured him as his lips curved up to a gentle smile. "Not about the ice cream."

His breath caught in his chest. He forced himself to exhale slowly as the implications of just what Aaron was saying shook him to his core.

Then Aaron said, "You should eat your sundae before it all melts."

"But if it melts, you can have ice cream soup!" Jack declared loudly.

"Inside voice." But it was Spencer who said it, not Aaron.

That won a brilliant smile from Aaron, who then tapped the side of his bowl. "If you don't start on it soon, you're risking upsetting the ratio of liquids to solids, Spence."

Spencer nodded faintly and picked up his spoon.

/***/


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** PG-13 This section, FRAO/NC-17 overall. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**See Chapter 1 for comments, disclaimers and thanks.**

/***/

Sometime between Buzz Lightyear racing into the pizza parlor and Buzz realizing that he was a toy, Jack fell asleep. Clearly the boy was used to having the entire couch to himself by the way he had his head in Aaron's lap and stretched out, his feet pushing against Spencer's thigh. Spencer hadn't minded, though, because once Jack had gotten settled, Aaron draped his arm across the back of the couch, his fingertips barely resting on Spencer's shoulder. They stayed like that until Aaron decided to take Jack to bed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron pick up the remote and turn off the DVD. He watched as Aaron maneuvered himself off the couch without waking Jack, picked the boy up, and carried him to his room. It wasn't especially late—nine-thirty on a Wednesday—and even though the Team had spent the last week and a half in the office, it didn't mean that the workload was any less. Sometimes, consultations were more mentally draining because they _weren't_ dashing around from crime scenes to the morgue to the police station.

Spencer could hear Aaron rustling around and he looked over his shoulder. The door to Jack's bedroom was opened the usual few inches. Aaron turned off the lights in the kitchen, leaving only the dim illumination from the wall sconces on either side of the television and the glow from the television itself. It was…intimate.

He could feel his pulse speeding up, his breath quickening. Spencer told himself that he was reading too much into Aaron's actions, that they weren't going to do something as silly as make out on Aaron's couch. Then, Aaron rounded the end table and sat down right next to him, just like he had at Spencer's apartment. There were no bowls of ice cream as a distraction this time. Spencer sucked in a breath and involuntarily clutched the armrest.

Aaron turned to face him, his voice quiet. He reached forward and gently traced Spencer's jaw with his fingertips. "Is this okay?"

Spencer closed his eyes, licked his lips, and whispered, "It's more than okay, Aaron."

He could feel the brush of a calloused thumb along his throat and smell the sweet-sour breath from iced tea and popcorn. Spencer wasn't sure which one of them was trembling more, but he leaned forward nonetheless. Yes, Aaron had to be the one who made the first move, but Spencer wasn't going to make it that difficult.

The kiss was dry, chaste. Shy. Brief. Electric.

An echo of their first kiss, when Spencer had pushed Aaron against the wall and pressed his lips to Aaron's. The first time had been Spencer asserting himself in a way that stated he wasn't joking around, and this was something he had been thinking about. He remembered stepping back, stunned that Aaron had surrendered to him so quickly, but still able to demand, "Tell me if I'm wrong."

This time? It was…romantic.

Aaron pulled away slightly, and for a moment, their rapid breathing was in sync. He then tucked a lock of hair behind Spencer's ear. "May I kiss you again?"

"Absolutely."

Aaron smiled one of those rare, brilliant smiles. He leaned in for a second kiss, and it was as chaste and cautious as the first.

It was sexy as hell.

It also made Spencer rock hard. He fought the urge to straddle Aaron's lap, to grind down and to deliver his own not-so-innocent kiss. He fought the urge to shimmy to the floor, kneel between Aaron's legs despite his injury, and suck Aaron's cock while he jerked off. How long had it been? But Spencer didn't. He gripped the armrest and sofa cushions tightly so he wouldn't be tempted to touch.

"You're shaking," Aaron said, sounding confused as he moved away.

Then, he realized that Aaron might have interpreted his nervousness and lack of contact as fear. Fear of a man who killed a murderer with his bare hands. His next words were breathless. "If I let go of the couch, I'm likely to maul you in a very un-gentlemanlike manner."

That earned a huffed laugh. Aaron looked at him through lowered lashes. His voice was barely audible. "Really."

"Absolutely." Spencer offered a gentle smile. "Will you kiss me again?"

Aaron nodded slowly and then leaned forward. The third was much like the first two, but ended with Aaron whispering, "I need to take this slow."

"I know." Spencer risked lifting his hand to lightly caress Aaron's cheek. Aaron turned towards it, his eyes closed and his lips barely brushing Spencer's skin. It was a direct current to his cock and he knew he made some kind of wanton sound, but he didn't stop the feather-light touches. Fingertips tracing Aaron's cheekbone, then his temple. Smoothing out the creases in his brow. Rough stubble dragging against the pads of his fingers as he ran them along Aaron's jaw.

Spencer knew what to do next to get what he desired. Take the lead. Kiss Aaron. Crawl in his lap and lick his throat. Thumb his nipples through the soft cotton of his dress shirt. Align his hips just so that he could press his hard cock against Aaron, remembering how much that turned Aaron on. Reach down and unbuckle Aaron's belt…

Spencer pulled away, his breathing uneven. His dick ached. It took an epic amount of willpower to say, "It's late. I should go."

Aaron opened his eyes and met his gaze. Softly, with that edge of amusement in his voice that Spencer hadn't heard in a very long time, "Not _that_ slow."

"If we keep going, I won't be able to stop," Spencer confessed and then looked away. "If I stay…I will take you to bed and I will..." He let out a sharp laugh. "I know _how_ to get what I want. But..."

"You think you'll be taking advantage of me."

"Yes." Spencer met his eyes as he said, "I will be." He heaved out a sigh and shook his head. "After Haley's funeral, you asked me what I was expecting. I said that I wanted to be your friend, and that hasn't changed. I also asked for you to give us time, because…because that's what we needed." He paused. "Then you…you began doing the little things you used to do, things that give me hope." Spencer swallowed hard, willing his voice not to break. He closed his eyes. "I want it all back, Aaron. All of it. I want…I want what we had before everything changed like it did."

Slowly, Spencer opened his eyes and looked at Aaron. Aaron's eyes were wet, his mouth set in a firm, thin line. His voice was pitched low. "I'm not the same person, Spencer. I will never be that person again."

"I know."

"But that's what you want."

"What I want is you. I want _us_. I want to color dinosaurs with Jack while you make dinner. I want you and Jack to make me sundaes after my physical therapy sessions. I want to watch Looney Tunes and ask you why people think Pepe le Pew is amusing when he has De Clerambault's syndrome for female cats with white strips down their backs."

Suddenly, Aaron let out a laugh and swore, wiping his eyes as he flung himself back on the couch. "Only you would profile cartoon characters."

"Like you haven't," Spencer fired back as a grin tugged at his lips. "You're the one who said the Daffy Duck is a narcissist and Yosemite Sam has anger-management issues."

"So you're saying we shouldn't allow Jack to watch Looney Tunes because it's full of erotomaniacs and narcissists."

"I prefer the planetarium," Spencer replied. "No subliminal messages." That won another smile.

Aaron stood up and held out his hand towards him. It took two tries for Spencer to get off the couch, tightening his grip on Aaron's hand as he did. They stood face to face and then Aaron pulled him in to a crushing hug. There was a whispered, "Thank you" in there somewhere as Spencer returned the embrace. He knew Aaron could feel his erection but he was momentarily stunned (disappointed?) that the feeling apparently wasn't mutual.

Spencer then reminded himself of the side-effects of most anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications. Not being able to 'get it up' (he couldn't bring himself to use the word 'impotent' ever to describe Aaron) was yet another legacy thanks to Foyet.

Spencer never harbored such hatred for one man in his entire life. It burned stronger than the resentment he felt about his own father. He held Aaron close, breathing slowly until Aaron loosened his hold. Spencer cradled Aaron's jaw and said softly, "Good night."

/***/


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** FRM/R for this section, overall FRAO/NC-17. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**See Chapter 1 for comments, disclaimers and thanks.**

/***/

To say the victimology was unnerving was an understatement.

Four white males, all in their early- to mid-forties. Upper-management, suit-wearing workaholics. Divorced. Heights ranging from six-foot to six-foot two and weighing approximately one hundred eighty to two hundred pounds. Caucasian. Dark hair, dark eyes. Physically fit. One was an amateur kick-boxer who placed consistently in tournaments in his age bracket, one had a brown belt in Brazilian jujitsu while another had a black belt, and the last victim was a champion collegiate wrestler who kept up his skills at a local mixed-martial arts gym.

Blitz-attacked as they left their offices well after everyone else in the building had gone home.

All found beaten and strangled to death, their ties used as the ligature.

And Hotch, being typical Hotch, decided to make himself a target once the profile had been solidified. He made the declaration in front of the locals without consulting the Team and then ordered everyone back to the hotel to get some rest.

Of course, Hotch's plan was met with vehement resistance, but it was done privately because the Team knew that showing any chinks in the armor could undermine their authority with the locals. Morgan and Rossi used the 'plenty of detectives who could pull off workaholic just fine, damn it' tactic while JJ and Prentiss played the 'think of Jack!' card.

Of course, Hotch went into 'I am the Unit Chief and my word is law' mode, effectively shutting the protests down for the evening.

Those four then turned to Reid, who had thus far stayed out of the argument.

Reid couldn't decide who he wanted to beat with his cane first. Hotch, for deciding that this was the case to reassert his status as alpha male (yet again), or the rest of the team, because apparently Reid still retained the title of 'the one who can talk sense into Hotch when he won't listen to Rossi.'

Sure, he was appalled that Hotch was being so stupidly reckless because it wasn't a split-second decision of, 'Oh, I'm going to take off after the UnSub without backup because the UnSub bolted.' No. This was premeditated. Reid also couldn't compartmentalize the situation like he had done in Phoenix, when Hotch had held that press conference to lure out the cop killer. Too much had passed since then and now.

Too much had been lost.

Way too much had been lost.

And he knew that Hotch was waiting in his hotel room for Reid to show up, to make that final plea of the evening. He knew Hotch already prepared his defense and was itching for that one last argument, to topple that one last domino. It wasn't a game that Reid was about to play. So, he went down to the front desk and scored eight packages of coffee for his in-room coffeemaker and a sugar dispenser from the hotel's complimentary breakfast buffet. He also purchased two cans of Red Bull and six packs of peanut butter crackers.

Then, Reid pulled an all-nighter because the one thing almost guaranteed to make Aaron Hotchner back down from a position was cold, hard logic.

At six-thirty the next morning, Reid yawned as he entered the breakfast area, his hair still damp from his shower. Each member of the team sat alone, which wasn't unusual for early starts like this. Hotch was near the window with a clear view of the dining room and the three entrances, watching. Waiting. Spoiling for the argument that he had been denied last night.

Reid sighed inwardly, poured himself a large glass of orange juice, and then walked directly to Hotch's table. He pulled out the chair and sat without asking or waiting for permission to do so. Hotch's shoulders rolled forward slightly. His eyes narrowed with that predatory glint he got when he was about to verbally strike.

Reid set his glass down, dug through his messenger bag, pulled out a map, and placed it between them on the table. There were two triangles, yellow representing where the victims lived and blue where the victims worked; where they overlapped was green which happened to be where the victims were killed. Reid fished out an orange highlighter and uncapped it.

Without so much as a 'good morning,' he launched into a concise explanation about the geographical profile of the gyms the victims frequented and its correlation to where the victims lived and worked. He drew as he spoke, coloring in the white areas of the new triangle, the point where the three triangles converged was a funky shade of brown.

Hotch listened, brow furrowed, but didn't interrupt.

The rest of the Team didn't join them, even though it was obvious Reid was talking about the case. Once he finished with the map, he recapped his highlighter, dropped it in his bag, and then pulled out his notepad and a pencil. He tore off the top sheet and placed it on top of the map. On the page, he had drawn five columns landscape, each filled with various short-hand symbols. At first, each column looked identical, but two-thirds down, the marks in middle one did not match the other four. As Reid explained what each line represented, Hotch's left eye began to twitch.

When Reid reached the second to last line, it was clear Hotch had figured out that the middle column represented himself, not the third victim. He seethed in that silent Aaron Hotchner way of seething, which was far more terrifying than the 'take your lunch money' version of Aaron Hotchner. Reid finished and set his pencil down.

"This why the strategy from the Phoenix cop killer case won't work," Reid concluded. Calm. Assertive. No begging. No pleading. No threats. Just a thorough dismantling of Hotch's reasons last night for making himself a target. Reid even phrased Hotch's lack of a mixed-martial arts discipline, something all four victims had in common, in a positive light. "If these victims were cyclists, then we could use your participation in the various marathons around the DC-area to our advantage."

Still, it was a subordinate nuking a plan Hotch had publicly (and adamantly) committed to last night in front of the locals.

So Hotch went after the only line of argument that Reid really left him. Hotch's voice was a bit louder than necessary. "You deliberately disobeyed a direct order," he snapped, referring to the very specific directive of _not_ working the case at the hotel. "And now you've compromised the efficiency of the team by pulling an all-nighter."

A twinge of disappointment ran through Reid, followed by immense regret for what he was about to say. He hoped that later, Hotch would forgive him, that Hotch would understand that this was the only way for him to see past his bull-headed determination.

Reid closed his satchel. He picked up his cane and shifted his weight, ready to stand. He leaned forward, met Hotch's frosty gaze, and quietly said, "If you hadn't put yourself above the Team, I wouldn't have had to."

He stood carefully, focusing on the set of Aaron's jaw rather than the hurt that he was sure flashed through the man's eyes or how Aaron was bending the spoon in his hand. Reid turned away and walked out, knowing that Morgan, Prentiss and JJ would quickly be on his heels once he reached the parking lot. He knew once inside the SUV, he could let out the breath he was holding and allow the shakes to take over. He knew they would ask him what he said, but he dared not repeat it.

The only time Aaron Hotchner had been called a narcissist before was by Spencer in a dingy cabin in rural Georgia. It had been Spencer's last ditch effort to send the team a clue, because he knew that Hotch would not have dismissed his words as easily as Gideon. His gamble had paid off back then.

He hoped his gamble paid off now.

An hour later, Aaron Hotchner gathered the Team at the conference room in the police station and closed the door. He used the "can't see the forest for the trees" metaphor as he admitted his error in judgment, and then said it was time to develop a new strategy. He pulled out the map and notebook page from breakfast and gave Reid credit for presenting it to him, although there was a distinct chill as he said it.

Hotch was still clearly pissed, but only those who knew him well could pick it up.

Still, the relief at the table was palpable but no one acknowledged Reid's gambit until after Hotch had left to update the police chief.

Rossi was the first say anything. "I really don't know what the hell you said to him, but next time? _You," _he pointed at Reid, "get to be in the same SUV with him. Jesus Christ, I thought I was riding shotgun at a demolition derby." But the older agent grinned and nodded as if to say, _Good job_.

Reid offered his lopsided smile as he tolerated Morgan ruffling his hair and Prentiss patting his shoulder. JJ simply mouthed, 'Thank you,' but Reid knew that they _all _realized that he'd basically put everything he had with Hotch on the line. Everything he had been working to repair since Foyet's attack.

Everything.

It sucked.

He forced himself to focus on the case. Reid would allow himself to be miserable later.

When lunchtime rolled around, Reid was genuinely surprised that Hotch brought him Starbucks. Sure, the man brought some for the rest of the team, but Reid's was the only one he personally delivered. Hotch then pitched his voice low. "Next time, just tell me I'm being a stubborn jackass."

Reid glanced over to see that the door was shut, which was probably the only reason why Hotch said anything in the first place.

"Four people told you that," Reid told him. He knew frustration seeped in to his tone, so he popped the lid off the coffee and took a tentative sip. It was sweetened perfectly.

"You didn't have to…" Hotch trailed off and tilted his head a little. The unspoken, _You didn't have to say __**that**__ to get my attention,_ was clear, because if there was one thing that Aaron Hotchner prided himself a little too much on, it was not putting himself above the team.

He glanced up at Hotch's serious expression. "You went into an UnSub's house without your Kevlar in Louisville. You chased down a suspect in Oklahoma City without back up." Reid leaned back in his chair. "Around the bullpen, that's called 'pulling a Reid.'" He paused, letting the words sink in. Softly, he added, "You don't need to prove anything to anyone, Aaron, especially us. You need to believe that."

Hotch's lips pursed at the use of his first name and he looked away. He flexed his left hand, knuckles popping. "You didn't have breakfast," he stated, abruptly changing the subject as he moved towards the door. "Make sure you get some lunch."

"Yes, sir."

Hotch left.

Reid let out a sigh. Then, he glanced at the side of the white cup.

There, in black grease pencil, were the initials _DNFW_, Hotch's acronym for 'do not fuck with'.

Reid let out a laugh, relief coursing through him.

/***/


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution, Part 5

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** FRAO/NC-17. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**See Chapter 1 for comments, disclaimers and thanks.**

Special thanks to CMAli for late night conversation and the beta on these final parts. To Pabzi for the critique.

/***/

When Jack begged Spencer to make the dinner plates dance because he was a magician and Spencer said that he couldn't, Jack clutched Aaron's pants leg and sobbed.

Horrified that he'd made the boy cry, Spencer tried to reason with him.

It only made it worse.

Spencer became so desperate, he launched into a philosophy discourse more suited for a doctoral candidate than a child as he thought, _Why the hell isn't Aaron helping me?_

"Please," Jack pleaded, looking at Spencer with tear-filled eyes and a runny nose.

Spencer finally told him, "I'm not that kind of magician," mortified because he failed so thoroughly.

"Spence, he's tired," Aaron said softly as he bent down and scooped Jack up. He addressed his son directly. "The park _and_ the museum _and_ helping make dinner _and _a movie?" He wiped Jack's eyes and nose with a handkerchief. "We did a lot today."

Apparently, that was code for bedtime, because Jack immediately wailed, "I don't wanna!"

"Jack, it's late. It's time for a bath."

Jack suddenly pulled away from Aaron, twisted his body, and lunged for Spencer. It startled Aaron and terrified Spencer, who was convinced the boy would overbalance Aaron and crash to the floor. Spencer grabbed the boy by the arms at the same time Aaron seemed to let go. Jack swung a little and then clutched Spencer's neck, wrapping his legs around Spencer's torso. Spencer stumbled backwards, his knee twinging at the unexpected movement, and his back hit the edge of the kitchen island.

Spencer looked over Aaron, who had an odd look on his face. The man's arms were at his sides, his jaw slightly slack. His eyes…Spencer never saw quite that look in the man's eyes before.

"I don't wanna," Jack sobbed into Spencer's neck.

Spencer was still reeling from the change of events, from Jack being upset that he couldn't make plates sing and dance—_Damn you, Disney,_ Spencer thought—to being reached for by Jack when the boy didn't want to do something. Aaron's silence was telling as well—either he didn't know what to say, or he was waiting to see how Spencer played out this scenario. It was like a test.

_You said you wanted this_, Spencer chided himself, thinking of the night he declared that he wanted to be part of Aaron's and Jack's lives. _And here's your opportunity to prove it_.

He quickly sifted through the things he had read regarding parenting and compared it to what he'd witnessed Aaron doing.

Of all the stupid connections for his mind to make, Spencer thought of hostage negotiations. He had a feeling that Aaron wouldn't be too appreciative of that particular tactic, so he tapped Jack's chin until the boy looked up at him. "Do you know what bacteria are?"

And that was how Spencer managed to get Jack in the tub, bathed with minimal fuss, dressed in clean pajamas, and in bed. Then, as he tucked Jack in, there was that sense of triumph as Spencer finally—_finally_—figured out a reasonable explanation as to why, as a magician, he couldn't anthropomorphize an alarm clock.

"Only wizards like Gandalf can do that," Spencer told the boy. "And, I'm not a wizard."

"Who's Gandalf?" Jack asked.

That was how Jack Hotchner was introduced to J.R.R. Tolkien. Spencer kept his voice low and even despite his enthusiasm about the subject. He sat on the edge of Jack's bed as he described Hobbits, elves, and dwarves, and the geography of Middle Earth. He explained how Tolkien created several languages to go along with those races.

"Sindarin was the language spoken by the elves." He closed his eyes and imagined the words as he spoke them, "_I amar prestar aen, han mathon ne nen, han mathon ne chae a han noston ned 'wilith._"

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Spencer looked up to find Aaron standing next to him with a small smile on his face. Aaron nodded toward his son. "He's been asleep for the past forty minutes."

Spencer blinked, looked over to the dozing boy, and then glanced at his watch…which wasn't there. He'd taken it off and put in his pocket when he'd given Jack a bath. Embarrassed that he'd gotten so caught up in his rambling that he didn't even _notice_, Spencer shook his head as he stood. He couldn't even get out a "Sorry" as he brushed past Aaron to leave the bedroom.

As he approached the kitchen, he pulled out his watch and he realized that he'd been talking for almost an hour. Had Aaron stood there the entire time listening? Why hadn't he interrupted?

It was also then that Spencer noticed that the front of his sweater vest was wet. _Idiot_, he chided himself. _You were so caught up that you even missed __**that**__. _He shook his head.

Spencer slid his watch back into his pocket and turned when he heard Aaron leave Jack's bedroom and close the door until it was only open about two inches. Aaron walked up to him, the smile still on his lips. "I've never heard you speak Sindarin."

"It's not really a useful skill to have in the field," Spencer replied, still embarrassed that he lost track of time. He gestured towards Jack's room. "Sorry I got so…"

"You did fine," Aaron interrupted as he placed a gentle finger against his lips. Aaron's gaze was heated, a look that Spencer hadn't seen for a very, very long time. His finger slid from Spencer's lips across his cheek as he gently cupped his chin, tilting it _just so_.

Spencer's breath caught as he closed his eyes and leaned forward automatically. What he wasn't expecting was a passionate, searing kiss. He felt his knees buckle, and he reached out to steady himself against Aaron. He opened his mouth and, when Aaron's tongue swirled around his, he moaned and clutched Aaron's arms.

Aaron's hands moved to the bottom of the vest. He broke the kiss and stated with surprise, "Your sweater's wet."

"Happened when I was turning your son into a germophobe," Spencer tried to make it sound like a quip as he again looked over towards Jack's bedroom, but knew he failed. He never thought that scaring a child into doing something was beneficial, yet that's what he had done tonight. "Aaron, I'm really, _really_ sor—"

His words were cut off with another kiss—this one more gentle, yet still hungry. When Aaron pulled away, there was no mistaking the desire sparkling in his eyes. "You did fine," he repeated and tugged the sweater. "We should get you out of this."

Spencer sucked in a breath, momentarily stunned by the quiet comment. There were a bunch of different ways to interpret what the man was saying, but the look in Aaron's eyes and the kisses—Spencer nodded slightly, breathing, "Yes."

Aaron pulled off the vest, balled it up, and tossed it towards the washer/dryer. Aaron's fingers settled on the buttons of his dress shirt, which was also damp. Spencer felt the blush sweeping across his cheeks. "I'm not really good at this whole parenting…" but stopped when Aaron hitched an eyebrow. Spencer rolled his eyes and then couldn't help but smirk. "You're supposed to shut me up with a kiss."

"Am I, now?" Aaron teased as he continued unbuttoning Spencer's shirt.

"Yeah," he replied, suddenly breathless because this was _not_ Aaron in caretaker mode. This was playful, sexy Aaron whom Spencer honestly thought he might never see again.

Aaron met his gaze as he finished with the buttons. He pulled Spencer forward a little so that now only inches separated them. Spencer could smell the faded cologne and that specific scent that was pure Aaron.

Aaron's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Will you stay tonight?"

Spencer's heart nearly stopped in his chest because he knew that Aaron meant _in his bed_ not Spencer camping out on the couch like had done that first week after Haley's murder. He licked his lips a few times and swallowed hard. It was a huge step for Aaron.

Huge.

Yet from the way Aaron leaned forward, crowding into Spencer's personal space, Spencer knew that things had finally—_finally_—changed. His response was breathless as he met the man's gaze.

"Yes."

The kiss was searing. Possessive. It conveyed Aaron's passion so clearly, so concisely, that all Spencer could do was whimper, wrap one hand around Aaron's shoulder and slink the other down to cup Aaron's ass.

Aaron rolled his hips forward, his hard-on unmistakable. It made Spencer moan and shiver. Aaron then maneuvered them to the master bedroom, closing the door once they were inside. Spencer's shirt hung open; Aaron kissed down his throat, across his chest, and then lightly bit each nipple.

Spencer had never been especially vocal, but Aaron's actions elicited a yelp and him clutching at Aaron's shoulders, panting, "Please, _please_."

"Shhhhh," Aaron hushed.

Right.

_Jack. _

Despite being exhausted from a very active day, the boy tended to wake up at unusual noises. The last thing he and Aaron needed was to be walked in on.

Aaron continued to move them towards the bed, his hands dropping to Spencer's belt. He paused, lips against the side of Spencer's neck, and it took a split second for Spencer to realize what he was waiting for: permission.

"Yes," Spencer murmured and was rewarded with another intense kiss. Aaron unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, but then slid his hands up Spencer's sides and thumbed his nipples. He arched and grabbed Aaron's waist in order to steady himself. He heard an amused chuckle, low and sexy.

Confident.

It was a sound Spencer sorely missed.

Memories of those last good days flashed through his mind, that weekend when everything happened so perfect, _just right_. Memories that Spencer had firmly locked away because he swore to himself that whenever—_if_ ever—his relationship with Aaron would resume, it could _not_ be based entirely on what they used to have.

Aaron was correct in saying that he could never be that man again. Spencer couldn't be who he used to be either. Too much had happened. Too much had changed.

The old Spencer would have asserted himself. The old Spencer would have spun them around so that it was Spencer pushing them towards the bed, not Aaron. The old Spencer would have effortlessly stripped Aaron of his clothing, and mapped every inch of the man's skin with his tongue, lips, and fingers until Aaron was writhing, begging, shooting his load across his belly.

The old Aaron would have automatically relinquished control.

This new Aaron? _This new Aaron has to be in charge_, Spencer thought.

Then, he felt the side of the bed pressing against the backs of his legs. He could feel his trousers being unzipped and pushed down his legs, leaving him in only his dress shirt, boxers and mismatched socks as he stepped out of the trousers. His shoes were by the front door, which was a habit he picked up from Aaron, since the man preferred being barefoot when at home.

Aaron took a few steps back, his gaze raking over Spencer's nearly naked body as if taking in every inch of his bared skin. Spencer kept his hands at his sides and jutted his hip forward slightly so that his erection tented his underwear a bit more provocatively. He wanted to reach down and adjust himself. Maybe pull down the waistband so he could stroke his bare cock while Aaron watched, but he refrained.

Instead, he watched as Aaron took off his long-sleeved, burgundy polo, revealing a white tee that clung to his torso. Aaron undid his belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. They slid down slightly so that the edge of the tee came untucked. He moved forward, sliding one hand behind Spencer's head and the other down to his ass. He pulled them together, their lips crashing together as he ground himself against Spencer.

Despite his earlier determination not to assert himself, Spencer couldn't help but push the edge of the jeans past Aaron's ass, which earned a groan. Then, Aaron moved his hand from the back of Spencer's head to his shoulder, pressing down lightly. Spencer obeyed the unspoken command, sucking on Aaron's lower lip, licking down Aaron's throat, and pressing soft kisses down the center of Aaron's shirt-clad chest as he sat down on the bed.

Aaron's jeans were at mid-thigh, exposing pale blue boxers bulging with the man's erection. Spencer nuzzled the hard cock through the fabric, inhaling the distinct musk. He heard the swallowed groan and smiled as Aaron's left hand tangled in his hair—not to guide his movements but just _there_. Spencer placed his own hands on the tops of Aaron's bared thighs, careful and slow, then slid them around to the back of his legs, breaching the hem of the leg holes of the boxers.

Aaron hissed as he rocked slightly, so Spencer mouthed the fabric covering hard flesh, paying careful attention to the wet spot, and savored the salty-sour precum the fabric had absorbed. The noise Aaron made was somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

Spencer tried to tell himself, _careful, easy,_ because he didn't want to spook Aaron, didn't want to take control away from him. But he found his self-control rapidly fading. Aaron's fingers raking his hair. His nose pressed to Aaron's groin. His lips caressing Aaron's dick. His hands roaming over Aaron's firm ass, thumbs lightly drawing up and down his ass crack.

He heard the growled order, "Suck me."

Spencer shivered as he said, "Yes."

He didn't miss Aaron's full-body shudder. Spencer slid his hands up and hooked his fingers so that he could pull Aaron's boxers down…down…down…the moment Aaron's dick popped free of the waistband, Spencer engulfed him, sucking hard and swirling his tongue.

"Fuck yes," Aaron hissed and yanked on Spencer's hair.

His nose pressed against Aaron's wiry pubic hair. He could smell the sweat, the musk, the _everything_ of Aaron. He hummed his appreciation. Aaron jerked hard, briefly choking him, before loosening his grip. His thumb stroked Spencer's lips around his cock. "So good, so good," he groaned, spreading his legs apart slightly. "God, so good."

Spencer continued caressing Aaron's ass and massaging his scrotum before scraping Aaron's perineum with his fingernail. Aaron gasped and arched; it was clear he was struggling with keeping quiet. It made Spencer smile to himself, knowing he could still do these things to his…

To his…

To his _lover_.

And, _damn,_ did it feel incredible being able to call Aaron that again. Spencer reached down and began stroking himself, keeping his movements in sync with the way Aaron rocked in to his mouth.

"Need to feel you," Aaron groaned suddenly as he pulled away. His eyes shone with desire as he stepped out of his pants. He crawled into bed and it was then that Spencer realized the man had already pulled back the covers.

Spencer felt a slight tug on his shoulder so he shimmied up so that he was facing Aaron. H e was still wearing his unbuttoned shirt and boxers, but Aaron immediately began kissing him, hands roaming down Spencer's ribcage to the waistband. Spencer pushed down his own boxers, kicking them off before pressing his leaking cock against Aaron's. Aaron rolled his hips and made a needy sound, his movements frantic.

The shirt kept getting tangled around them, so Spencer hooked his leg around Aaron's and rolled on top of him. He slid his knees up so that their dicks continued to slide against each other. Aaron's t-shirt began riding up as Spencer continued to move on top of his lover. Once Spencer got his balance right, he broke away from the kiss and sat up, grinding down as he did. He yanked his dress shirt off, closing his eyes briefly as he stretched. Spencer's left hand settled on the exposed skin of Aaron's right side, his thumb pressing against his hip.

Spencer swiveled his hips a little before leaned down, intending to capture Aaron's lips in a searing kiss.

But…

Aaron's eyes were screwed tightly, his lips pursed. His hands gripped the sheets so hard that his knuckles were white. His breath came in short bursts, his nostrils flaring, and his skin turned pale.

"Aaron?" Spencer asked worriedly as he reached up to cradle his cheek. "Aaron, what's wrong?"

Spencer wasn't expected to be violently shoved to the side as Aaron bolted from the bed and into the master bathroom.

The door slammed.

The distinct sound of retching followed.

Spencer immediately went numb, his erection flagging. _What did I do?_ _What happened? _He frantically searched his memory, going over all the triggers that he knew about.

This was a new one.

He belly twinged.

Spencer stared at the bathroom door, still closed although the toilet was flushed twice. He set his jaw because, while _yes_ what had happened was beyond disastrous, he knew that avoiding it would only cause it to fester.

He knew Aaron. He knew what this would do to Aaron if they didn't address it.

Spencer sighed.

_Time_, he reminded himself. _But it doesn't always heal all wounds._

He waited for a few minutes, listening, and then realized that Aaron probably wasn't going to exit the bathroom unless he thought the coast was clear. It was annoying but understandable. Aaron was a proud man. He'd taken a huge step tonight, gave in to his desires and _that_ happened.

So Spencer pushed himself off the bed and gathered their discarded clothes. He put them in the hamper before opening the dresser drawer designated as "his." He quickly donned the pajamas—long-sleeved button-front shirt and long pants—and let out another sigh.

Just once, he wanted something to be easy.

Unlike the night of Aaron's first panic attack, Spencer didn't make coffee and have it ready for a discussion. Instead, he padded through the apartment, checking the alarm system (armed) and locks (secure). He fished out his phone charger, glasses and contact lens case from his messenger bag, picked up his and Aaron's phones from the sofa table, and turned off all of the lights except for the one over the kitchen stove.

When he returned to the bedroom, Spencer was surprised to find Aaron sitting on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and an undershirt. Aaron stared at the floor, head bent, elbows resting on his knees, and hands clasped in front of him. The tense set of Aaron's shoulders signaled that the man was ready to be chastised, perhaps even verbally humiliated.

It made Spencer's heart ache.

It just wasn't fair.

Spencer walked over, placed Aaron's phone on the nightstand next to the gun safe, and then walked over to his own side, plugged in his charger and then his phone. He went into the bathroom and removed his contacts. After quickly brushing his teeth and washing his face, he turned off the light and headed out into the bedroom.

Aaron was still sitting there.

Spencer got into bed and pulled his side of the covers up. He briefly debated pulling out the book he knew would be in the nightstand drawer; none of his other belongings had been moved, so it was safe to assume that his book would be there, as well. He then considered just reciting something like he had those days after Haley's murder.

He ended up staring at the back of Aaron's head and weighing his options. Spencer took a deep breath and began, "Thirteen months and five days after Georgia, we had that case north of Saginaw. We ended up staying at the firehouse and using it as our base because the police station was under construction and the local motel was being renovated. Do you remember that?"

Spencer fell silent until he saw Aaron nod.

"The last night we were there…we weren't cleared to fly out until morning…it was a Friday during Lent. The firehouse is famous for the Lenten fish fry. They used fresh fish from the lake, cleaning it themselves. When I walked into the kitchen…all I could smell were the guts." Spencer paused, knowing he didn't have to explain the significance of it. "I'd been clean about two months. But that night?" He glanced away and fiddled with the fold of the blanket. "I picked the lock to the EMS supplies, found what I wanted, and shot up in the men's room."

Aaron inhaled sharply but remained silent.

Spencer continued, "It was the only time I used while actually in the field. Did you know that once the drugs had settled in, the locals kept telling me how nice it was for me to finally 'loosen up' and not sound like a walking encyclopedia?" He wrinkled his nose at the memory. Spencer then let out another breath. "I don't think less of you. I never will. You have to believe that. I just…I just need to understand what happened tonight. Please."

For several minutes, the only sound in the room was their breathing. Then, Aaron's voice broke the silence, his tone quiet, sharp and angry. "He was on top of me when he stabbed me." Aaron glanced briefly over his shoulder. "No, I don't want to talk about it."

Spencer could only nod as he watched Aaron shift until he was lying on his side facing away from Spencer and pulling the covers up to his shoulder. His bedside lamp remained on.

If Spencer Reid could resurrect George Foyet, he would for the sole purpose of beating the man to death a second time.

It just wasn't _fair_.

/***/


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Triggers & Ties 11: Evolution, Part 6

**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia

**Rating/Warnings:** FRAO/NC-17. (profanity, sexual situations)

**Characters/Pairing:** Hotch/Reid, Jack

**See Chapter 1 for comments, disclaimers and thanks.**

Special thanks to CMAli for late night conversation and the beta on these final parts. To Pabzi for the critique.

/***/

Spencer was not used to waking up with a body next to him, much less one curled possessively around him. Aaron's arm was across his chest, fingers latched on the shoulder of his pajamas, and nose buried in Spencer's hair. It was comforting, of course, to be in such a tight embrace.

The hard on pressed against his ass didn't hurt either. Spencer felt his own cock twitching as he ran through options for the morning. Should they attempt to have sex given how disastrous last night had been? Would that help Aaron's confidence? He decided to go for it because if there was one thing he had discovered in those times waking up next to Aaron, Aaron's demons were usually at bay until the man was fully awake.

So Spencer slowly turned, ignoring the muffled protests of his bedmate, and carefully ran the back of his fingers along the side of Aaron's face. Aaron leaned in to the touch, brow creasing slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Drowsy, Aaron asked, "Spence?"

He brushed his thumb across Aaron's lips. He shifted a little so their cocks bumped. "I want you," Spencer said simply and them moved his hand to Aaron's waist.

There was a pause—Aaron closed his eyes as he sucked in a breath—and then a small nod.

"May I?" Spencer asked quietly, his thumb lightly stroking the waistband.

"Yes," Aaron breathed as he moved closer, his own hand gliding down Spencer's shoulder to his waist.

Slowly, Spencer curled his fingers around Aaron's hard length, caressing him lightly. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Aaron's jaw. "I want to take your cock out. I want to stroke us together."

"Oh, God. _Please_."

It took a bit of maneuvering, but he got Aaron's boxers off along with his own pajama bottoms and underpants. When he wrapped his hand around Aaron's cock, Aaron hissed, his hips bucking.

"Please," Aaron begged. "Oh, God, please."

"Shhhh," Spencer hushed as he adjusted his grip, thumbing the head of Aaron's dick and smearing the precum.

Aaron nodded and then began kissing the side of Spencer's neck.

The strokes were slow. Firm. A bit awkward because Spencer knew he should have gotten some lube to ease things a bit, but he didn't want to stop. No. He couldn't break the delicate mood. Aaron thrust into his fist, his hand firm on Spencer's hip. The words "Please" and "God yes" breathless whimpers.

Spencer shifted again, getting his own cock into position as he loosened his grip and then pressed himself firmly against Aaron. His own precum aided a little with the harsh friction, but it was going to become quickly uncomfortable.

"Need lube," Aaron grunted suddenly and then turned enough for his free hand to thump the top of the nightstand, then yank open the drawer and paw through the contents. It took a few seconds before Aaron turned back, hips still rocking against Spencer, the click of the cap echoing in the room.

Cool viscous liquid splashed on their cocks and immediately, the friction turned from uncomfortable to exquisite. Aaron hissed.

Spencer adjusted his grip and maneuvered his other hand so that the head of Aaron's cock fucked his fist. Aaron moaned, his pace increasing as he began showering Spencer's neck with kisses.

"That's it," Spencer murmured, hoping that his encouragement wouldn't set off another trigger. "That's it."

He was rewarded with a series of "please" and "oh God" that made him smile. He tightened his grip and twisted his hand the way he remembered Aaron liking it.

"Harder," Aaron pleaded. "Harder. Please. _Please_. Harder. _Close_."

Spencer obeyed and increased the pace, Aaron now rolling his hips and clutching Spencer's shoulder. Spencer knew how close his lover was by the change in breathing. He wasn't that close to coming, too caught up in making Aaron feel good, in making this _work_ like it should have last night.

"Please. _Please._ Close."

Spencer watched how Aaron's face contorted, how his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing became irregular. He picked his moment. He said, "Come for me."

Suddenly, Aaron's entire body jerked hard and Spencer could feel the warm spurts shooting into his fist. Aaron's mouth dropped open. Tears ran from his closed eyes. He made a high pitched sound as Spencer milked his cock, Spencer determined to wring every last sensation out of Aaron until it became too much.

Aaron stopped moving. He pressed his face against the side of Spencer's neck. His hand snaked down pushed Spencer's away from his softening cock and Spencer's still rock hard dick. He panted from the sex high, mouth moving as if trying to kiss but not quite succeeding.

Spencer could help but smile to himself, even if his own dick ached because it needed some attention.

After a few moments, Aaron fumbled a bit as he grasped Spencer's length. There was surprise in his voice as he said, "You didn't come."

"It's okay."

Aaron shook his head. "It's not okay."

"Then get me off."

There was a pause and then Aaron said wickedly, "But I though you said it was okay."

"I lied."

Aaron let out a light laugh. "I've missed you, Spencer Reid."

Spencer couldn't help but smile. "I've missed..." but before he could finish his sentence, Aaron began stroking his cock with quick efficiency, the rhythm and method making Spencer arch into the touch.

It had been too long.

Way too long.

There wasn't much of a build up. The orgasm just _hit_, and thankfully Aaron had enough sense to kiss him so his shout wouldn't wake Jack up.

It was going to be weird having quiet sex.

But Spencer didn't care.

Sweaty.

Sticky.

Curled up next to his lover—and God, Spencer relished the use of the word 'lover' against…Curled up next to his lover, he knew that they truly were back on track.

Finally.

_Finally._

/***/ Finis /***/


End file.
